Читать книгу Season of Hope - Virginia Carmichael - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Gavin could feel the heat at the back of his neck as he stared at the switchboard. It seemed to have at least a hundred more buttons than the day Lana walked him through the system. But this was what the Mission needed right now, so he was going to sit behind the desk and answer the phone. At least until someone else got there, and he prayed that would be soon.

“You really don’t have to stay.” He tried to keep his tone even, but the focus of the gorgeous brunette with the bright blue eyes was almost as unnerving as the switchboard panel. The way she laughed with Marisol, held a little girl’s hand and sang carols with Lana told him this wasn’t the gossip-hungry editor he’d imagined. She radiated energy, as if she was plugged directly into a current. He shouldn’t have been surprised, since she was Jack’s twin, but he hadn’t expected her to be so...vibrant. Quiet, yes. Jack had mentioned that part. But not this live wire of a personality.

“Not a problem. It’s not going to interfere with my social life to stay here a little longer.” She smiled then and he was glad he was sitting down. Perfect, matching dimples. And that was a definite reference to the lack of a boyfriend. He sat up a little straighter, needing to remember who she was and what she did. A journalist was not his type. The very opposite of his type, really.

There was a small pause, and then she seemed to make a decision. “So, did you and Jack meet here at the Mission?”

“No, up on the mountain. I pulled him out of a drift when he went off-trail last spring.” Gavin shook his head at the memory. Crazy guy could have died that way, upside down in ten feet of snow.

“He never told me that.”

“Probably didn’t want to worry you.”

She laughed and the sound made him smile without his permission. “No, he loves to worry me. More likely he was embarrassed at having pulled a less-than-stellar move.”

“You don’t ski?” Maybe she did and he just hadn’t noticed her under a ski hat, ski suit and goggles. No. He was pretty sure he would have noticed her even under all that. She sure looked like she spent time at the gym. Then he realized he was giving her an extended once-over and dropped his gaze.

“Not my thing. In fact, exercise and I have an awkward relationship. On-again, off-again, depending on the number of cookies I need to burn.” She shrugged one shoulder.

It was as if his mouth had declared independence from his brain. He needed to stop asking questions and pray a call came in. “Well, if you ever feel the need for more commitment, we could go snowboarding for the day. I’ll even let Jack come along.” Was he flirting with her? What was wrong with him? Gavin wished he was alone so he could give himself a punch in the arm.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just smiled at him as if he’d said something cute. “Does your family live around here?”

Reality check. “Yes. My grandmother lives here, and my sister and her little boy are moving here next week.”

She leaned forward, interest shining from those bright blue eyes. “Younger or older sister?”

“Allison is four years younger.” And you don’t want to know the rest of the story on my prodigal sister, so don’t ask. Then again, as a newspaper editor, she just might. They were all about dishing the dirt.

“My cousin has a little boy. We can arrange a playdate at the park if she wants. Moving is hard on kids.”

Moving was extra hard on a kid who didn’t really have any place to call home. But he was ready to change all that, if Allison would let him. Sean would love to make some friends. He nodded. “That would be great.”

There was a beat or two and then he said, “Hey, I’m sure someone will be here soon. I feel bad about you wasting your time.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced around the deserted lobby. “True, it’s pretty slow right now.”

The far door that led to the offices opened with a bang and Jose strode through. His hair was cut short, red polo and khakis neatly pressed. Except for the massive multi-colored tattoos covering each arm from wrist to biceps, he looked like your middle-management employee. His name tag bounced as he advanced on them, expression intense.

“Did I hear that right? Calista’s in labor?” His Mayan features were lit up with excitement.

“Sure is. Grant left a few minutes ago.”

“And you let him drive?” Jose raised both hands in a “what’s up” gesture.

“No, Lana took him over.”

Jose relaxed against the desk, a smile creasing his face for the first time. “Good thing. When my wife had her baby last year, I almost wrecked the car and we only had to drive three blocks.”

“He didn’t look like he was fit to do much besides walk. Maybe not even that,” Gavin said, remembering Grant in the lobby, too excited to put one foot in front of the other.

“I’m Jose.” He seemed to notice Evie for the first time and put out a hand. Gavin watched her shake it and introduce herself. Her expression was friendly, her tone even, but Gavin had seen alarm pass over her face when Jose appeared. He was definitely scary-looking, but there wasn’t a man in this Mission who was more committed to peace.

“You must be tapped into the community if you’re heading The Chronicle. Best hometown paper we’ve ever had.”

Evie smiled that megawatt smile, both dimples making an appearance. Gavin could see the pride in her eyes.

Jose tapped a finger on the desk, thinking. “You and Gavin should work up something about the whooping cough epidemic. Last year we had a few cases, but this year they’ve already had seventeen. The babies get sick the worst. No fatalities yet, but there will be if people don’t get on board with the vaccinations.”

Gavin looked to her, suspecting she was already giving the idea a pass. Sure, the outbreak had his office going crazy, but that would be low priority at the paper.

“I was thinking the same thing when Jack told me you worked with the CDC, but I didn’t want to pressure you.” Evie was nodding at Gavin, as if this made perfect sense. “You need to get the word out, and we can help.”

He forced his face into something that he hoped passed for encouraging. She was right. But he wouldn’t be the one to walk into the lion’s den. Journalists were all the same. Drama for profit. There were real people suffering and they showcased it for greed. Gavin dropped his gaze to the desk, struggling to compose his thoughts. But babies would die without the information out there, so it didn’t matter what he felt about papers.

The large glass front doors opened and two women in red Mission jackets came into the lobby, probably Lana’s replacement.

He stood up and angled himself out of the desk chair. Thankfully nobody had called.

A young woman with a name tag and a long dark braid came toward the desk. “Jose, what’s going on? Lana said there was some sort of emergency?” She scowled, features twisted in surprise.

“Grant got a phone call, Lissa.” He waggled his eyebrows. The expression on the young woman’s face went from confusion and annoyance to all-out glee.

“No way!”

“Yes, way. But keep it on the down-low for now. She just got checked in.” Jose put his finger to his lips.

He couldn’t help laughing. He locked eyes with Evie and she was grinning from ear to ear. The joy was contagious. A baby was going to be born. The whole Mission was waiting for this baby. That was the way it should be, for every kid. Family and friends and well-wishers waiting to give a big welcome. He felt his smile fade a little. That’s not the way it was for Allison and Sean, for sure. There was no one to welcome him, to hold Allison’s hand. He hated that it had happened that way.

“Call me tomorrow about the article. We can get started on it right away.” Evie pulled her keys from her purse and gave a wave. A second later she was wading through the little kids, toward the middle of the lobby. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and her steps were quick.

Gavin watched her for a moment, noting the glass doors and the darkness outside. Her keychain had been a tiny bottle of pepper spray. It was downtown Denver, not New York City. The sidewalk shone with fresh snow. People passed the Mission at a steady rate. There was no real reason to need an escort to the parking lot. And Grandma Lili would thump him if she found out any grandson of hers let a woman walk alone at night.

Gavin took a breath. “Hey, wait up a minute,” he called.

Evie turned, surprise on her face.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He slipped on his coat.

“You think I’m afraid of the dark?” She laughed up at him. The black of her coat hood contrasted with the pink in her cheeks, and her eyes sparked with interest. He dragged his gaze away.

“I’m sure you’re not.” He pulled on the long metal handle of the front door and held it open for her. “Better safe than sorry.”

He grimaced inwardly. That was his personal motto, would probably be written on his tombstone. Here lies Gavin, better safe than sorry. Just as soon as he walked Evie to her car, he’d go back to being safe, because was she the type of woman that promised a whole lot of sorry. Smart, sweet, funny...and tied to a newspaper. Couldn’t get much further from safe than that. He had a lot on his plate without adding trouble to it. Now, if he could just remember that when he looked in those gorgeous blue eyes.

* * *

Evie walked out the doors of the Mission, and the cold cut through her wool coat like a knife. She shivered and hugged her arms to her chest. Being homeless was horrible, but being homeless in Denver in the winter was downright deadly.

She cut a glance at Gavin. His broad shoulders were hunched in his parka, his face set in a grim expression. She sighed inwardly. He obviously hadn’t offered to walk her to her car so they could chat. Evie appreciated the gesture, especially in this neighborhood. But she wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to get to know her even a little bit better.

“How long have you been on the finance board?” When in doubt, talk shop. Evie wasn’t any good at small talk, anyway.

“About five years. It’s been rough the past two, but things seem to be turning around.” He put out a hand and cupped her elbow as a group of ragged teens pushed past. Their raucous laughter echoed down the street.

“Do many public health disease specialists have experience in business?” She said it with a smile. So it was an awkward way to ask the question, but she was curious.

“Certainly not as much as running a paper would give me.”

She nodded. “Well, most of the profits from papers come from advertising, so I have to watch the business angle. We vet everything through our lawyers. We don’t want to tick off any deep pockets.” Evie said it matter-of-factly. Maybe he thought she sat at her desk and smoked cigars, yelling for the copy boys. “I think the pertussis article is important enough that we’ll make space, even if it means cutting out some fluff. The Chronicle is about informing and serving the community.”

Gavin stopped and turned to her, eyes intense on her face. He didn’t seem to notice the frigid December wind. “You’re saying the community comes first? That if you got a big story, a real shocker, you’d make sure it wouldn’t ruin anyone’s life before you ran it? If it was against your moral standards, it wouldn’t run, no matter how many copies it might sell?”

Evie could have sworn her heart dropped four inches and settled at an angle. Did he know what she’d been so many years ago? She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say how she’d only been trying to pay the bills, to get through journalism school. They’d said it would be easy. Just take some pictures. Follow the famous people and maybe expose a few liars in the process. But she didn’t say anything. There was no excuse for what she’d done.

“The Daily is the paper that runs the gossip. When I bought The Chronicle back from the bank, it was bankrupt and worthless. I wanted it to be something better, a paper that people could trust. And when I die, I don’t want to have to explain to God why I printed what I did.” Any more than she already would be. She felt her eyes burn and angrily blinked back tears. She couldn’t make up for ruining lives, exposing sins, but she was going to keep going anyway. The only other option would be to give up. And Evie wasn’t a quitter.

The chill breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, the orange glow from the streetlight casting his features into half shadow. Finally he nodded. “I see a lot of suffering on a daily basis. We need to reach the people that are falling through the cracks.”

Evie looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “I agree.” She hadn’t had to defend herself for a long time, and she felt off-kilter. Or maybe it was that steady gaze that let nothing past him.

“I can write up something tomorrow morning and bring it to you by noon. The booster shots are our best hope, especially for pregnant women, but nobody knows about it. When do you think we can run it?”

Evie did a quick mental calculation and came up with a time frame that included skipping lunch and staying hours after most of the crew had gone home. “It could run the day after tomorrow, but let’s put it in the Sunday edition. It’s the biggest. Everybody gets the Sunday paper.”

He nodded, a flicker of hope passing over his face. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

“What got you interested in diseases?”

Emotions flitted behind his eyes faster than she could capture them. Confusion, surprise. “My best friend died in the fourth grade from chicken pox.”

Shock made her silent for a moment. “I didn’t know it could be deadly. I thought everybody got chicken pox. Parents even try to expose their kids, to get it over with.”

His face was tight with pain. “You’re right.” He paused, gaze locked on hers. “I had it. Patrick’s mom brought him over to my house so he’d catch it and be done before Christmas break was over.”

Evie felt her mouth drop open. Gavin had given his best friend a disease that killed him...at Christmas? “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too. I’m still sorry.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “And that’s why I work at the CDC.”

Evie wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But there wasn’t anything she could say that would make that kind of grief disappear.

He seemed to want to say something more but thought better of it. He nodded toward the parking lot. “I think it’s going to snow again. We’d better get you home.”

She walked toward her light blue Volkswagen Beetle and unlocked the door. He made a noise behind her that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“What? You don’t like my car?” She was used to people poking fun at the powder-blue classic. She searched around on the floorboards for the ice scraper. There was a light film on the windshield, and she didn’t want to wait for it to defrost. Which would be about three hours with her outdated heating system.

“It’s great. I just figured you drove something nicer.”

She stood up, scraper in hand, and shot him a look. “Nicer?”

“Maybe I mean safer.”

“True, no airbags.”

“You can get those installed.” His lips quirked up in a smile, he held out one hand and she passed him the small plastic wedge.

“And what do you drive, Mr. CDC?”

“A Saab. I highly recommend them.” He made short work of the ice on the windows and brushed off the extra snow, handing back the scraper.

“Well, Edna and I are committed to each other. It’s till-engine-failure-do-us-part.”

He was grinning now, hands deep in his pockets, staring down at her. “Your car is named Edna.”

“That’s what she says.” Evie angled into the seat, dropped the scraper back on the floor and buckled up. “Thank you for the escort. And the window service.”

He didn’t answer, just raised a hand as she shut the door. As she pulled out of the lot, he was still standing there, looking amused.

The heater was going full blast and it was still twenty degrees in the Beetle, but Evie didn’t feel the cold. She turned toward The Chronicle offices, struggling to get her head back in the game. They had a big story shaping up and she needed to be ready to make decisions. But her mind kept returning to the man she had just left. He took a terrible tragedy and turned it into a life mission to help others. Handsome, yes. Educated, yes. Smart and purpose-driven, yes and yes. But all of those things added up to a man who wouldn’t want a woman with her sort of past. It was the kind of past that never went away, no matter how many community service articles she ran.